


Shawarma

by kjack89



Series: Les Avengers [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Marvel Avengers Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Date, Fluff, Les Amis as Avengers, M/M, Sappy Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 15:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain France and Iron Man finally have their first official date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shawarma

**Author's Note:**

> One day I will write something for this AU that involves them being actual superheroes and not just saps. But that is not this day.
> 
> Usual disclaimer - if you recognize it, I don't own it.

“How do you feel about shawarma?”

The words were loud, too loud, echoing in what had previously been a very relaxing silence, and Enjolras’s spine and shoulders tensed instantly, his grip on the pencil in his hand tightening. “Dare I ask what swarma is?”

He swiveled in his chair to glare at Grantaire, who was smiling disarmingly at him. “ _Shawarma_ ,” he pronounced, drawing the syllables out. “God, you’re so white.”

Enjolras’s jaw clenched, and it took him a great deal of effort to not instantly snap at Grantaire. “Did you come in here with a purpose, or just to mock me once again for my lack of cultural awareness?”

Grantaire’s grin widened, and he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Ok, firstly, normally I mock you for your lack of pop culture awareness. As you well know. Though I am finding it oddly convenient that the whitest guy I know has no concept of other cultures. I mean, you would think that even back in the 30s your world was a little more diversified than what you otherwise lead me to believe.” Enjolras let out a noise similar to a growl and Grantaire laughed. “Seriously though, I already told you my purpose: to know how you feel about shawarma.” 

“And as I’ve already indicated and been mocked for, I don’t know what shawarma is, and thus can hardly have any feelings toward it. Now if you’re done with whatever bizarre survey you’re conducting…” He didn’t finish the sentence, instead turning back to his desk in what was a clear dismissal.

Clicking his tongue loudly in disapproval, Grantaire told Enjolras, “Get up and come with me.”

Enjolras turned around again, this time breaking the pencil in his grip. “Excuse me?” he said, his voice icy cold. “Did you just command me to come with you?”

“Yeah. I did. You’ve been working all day and you very clearly need a break.”

Enjolras glowered at him. “ _You_  are hardly one to be giving me orders, hardly one to be giving  _anyone_  orders, and—”

Grantaire held up a hand, eyes flashing. “Before you continue, let me just tell you that I’m not ordering you to come with me for anything to do with the Avengers. I’m ordering you to come with me as your boyfriend.”

Now Enjolras blinked at him, his grip on the broken pencil loosening. “Oh.” He flushed slightly, looking away from Grantaire’s insistent gaze. “Um. Right.”

To be fair, it had only been a few weeks since Enjolras and Grantaire had started dating officially, instead of just sleeping together, and while everyone had been incredibly nice about it, they had nonetheless kept it fairly toned-down (even if Enjolras hadn’t slept in his own room since they had officially gotten together). So it was perhaps understandable that Enjolras hadn’t realized straight off that Grantaire was trying to coordinate some kind of date.

Understandable, but still a little embarrassing.

So he cleared his throat. “I would love to go do something with you. But not right now. This next mission is really important, and I don’t want to send Combeferre and Éponine in until we’ve covered every possible angle.”

Though Grantaire nodded, he still looked skeptical. “Speaking of that, by the way, are you sure sending Combeferre and Éponine in together is a good idea? I mean, have you read the files on what happened in Budapest?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. should be able to keep that well in hand,” Enjolras said quickly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I mean, that’s on them. But either way, they don’t leave on that mission for another two days. And you cannot tell me that you can’t take two hours away to actually get some proper sustenance into that remarkably sculpted body of yours.”

Enjolras flushed slightly, conspicuously aware of how tight his shirt was. “No, I can’t take  _two_  hours,” he snapped, feeling flustered the way he always seemed to lately when having any kind of conversation with Grantaire. “What kind of meal could possibly take two hours, when it takes, what, ten at most to throw something together in the kitchen? Especially since JARVIS can probably make it for you?”

Sighing heavily, Grantaire said softly, “The kind of meal that’s a date, Enj.” After a brief moment of uncomfortable silence, Grantaire reminded him, “You promised you’d try.”

Enjolras had promised he would try, right after he had asked Grantaire to go steady with him (some antiquated phrases would never die for him). But the Avengers Initiative had taken precedence, with a few things popping up over the past few weeks that had needed to be taken care of. But Enjolras hadn’t forgotten his promise, really, he just…

“I wanted it to be special,” he said, abruptly. “I know that I did things out of order by sleeping with you first, and I wanted to make it up for you by having our first official date be special, more than just you and I grabbing a quick meal together. And thus far, we haven’t exactly had any time to have an official first date.”

Grantaire shook his head. “We’ve had  _dates_  before,” he insisted. “I mean, hell, there were even candlelight dinners involved.”

Enjolras snorted. “You making Dum-E hold up a candelabra while we ate in your workshop does not count as a date. Especially since if I remember correctly, he dropped the candles and almost set the entire place on fire, and Butterfingers ran over our food while trying to put the fire out.”

“Oh yeah.” Grantaire smiled fondly at the reminder. “Well, at least it was memorable, right?” When Enjolras snorted again, Grantaire’s expression softened. “Look, I don’t need you to court me or woo me or whatever. When it comes to sweeping me off my feet, well, you’ve kind of done that already, alright?” He blushed as his own sentimental words, and looked determinedly away from Enjolras. “Just…getting dinner together outside of this place would be nice.”

“And I assume that’s where suwarmy comes in?” Enjolras asked dryly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “It’s  _shawarma_ , and it’s  _really_  not that hard to pronounce, you ass. But yes. I know this great little joint, not too far from here. We wouldn’t have to fly or anything. We could just walk over, have a nice meal, and walk back. Maybe hold hands a little. Maybe kiss just once.”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “In public? You know that Courfeyrac is concerned about our public image…”

Enjolras was pretty sure if Grantaire rolled his eyes any harder, they would roll right out of his head. “Right. Look. We’re both pretty recognizable. No matter how careful we are, people are going to find out eventually, and just our luck, they’ll find out something that’s not so tame as us getting shawarma together. I mean, you know that your preferences in bed could be defined as—”

“Right,” Enjolras said quickly, cutting him off. “So you want to give them something to talk about?”

Grantaire shook his head, crossing into the room to pull Enjolras out of his chair, pressing a kiss to his lips as he did so. “They’re always going to talk. You’re Captain France, for Christ’s sake, and I am Iron Man. At the very least, if they’re going to talk, we should give them something to talk about that’s not too scandalous. I mean, what’s the worst they can say? ‘Superheroes: They’re just like us! They eat shawarma too!’”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “They could publish a story about us being in a homosexual relationship,” he pointed out.

Now Grantaire grinned at him. “To be fair, given the tightness of your suit, it wouldn’t surprise me if the tabloids back in the day did run a story about how gay you were then.” Enjolras blushed furiously, and Grantaire kissed him again. “Look, S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t care — I mean, S.H.I.E.L.D.  _does_ care, but has established that until one of us screws this up irrevocably, they’re not going to be involved — the government doesn’t care, you don’t have relatives or friends left alive to care—”

Enjolras’s face tightened, and Grantaire winced. “Sorry, that was…Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Enjolras took a deep breath and managed a small smile. “So no one will care that Captain France and Iron Man are dating?”

“You were the one that pointed out that it’s not Captain France and Iron Man that are dating, it’s just you and me,” Grantaire said quietly, twining his fingers with Enjolras’s. “And there will always be people who care and who make a big deal out of things, but well, I’m so rich and have screwed up so many times that nothing they say can possibly ruin my reputation more, and you’re the poster boy of justice, so really, I’m not too concerned.”

Enjolras rested his free hand on Grantaire’s chest, feeling the hard case of the arc reactor underneath the thin t-shirt, the feel of it as comforting to him as Grantaire’s presence, as Grantaire’s arms wrapped around him in bed. And so he took another deep breath and said slowly, “Provided you’re ok with this being our first official date, I suppose I’m ready to go form an opinion on shawarma.”

Grantaire’s grin glowed brighter than the arc reactor, and he instantly tugged Enjolras towards the door. “See, I  _told_ you it isn’t that hard to pronounce shawarma…”

Thirty minutes later, they were seated in the small shawarma joint, eating their food with gusto. Enjolras set his wrap down on his plate, chewing contemplatively. “So that’s shawarma,” he said finally, after he had swallowed.

Grantaire looked up, grinning. “That’s shawarma,” he agreed, leaning back in his seat, his foot rubbing against Enjolras’s calf under the table. “What do you think?”

Enjolras pursed his lips, thinking, then winked at Grantaire, a smile of his own twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I think there are worse places we could have gone for a first date.” He leaned across the table to kiss Grantaire softly, telling him, “I love you.”

The teenaged girl who had been waiting on them gasped loudly, instantly grabbing her phone, probably to text all her friends what she had just seen. Grantaire just rolled his eyes. “Sap,” he told him, though he was still smiling. “Completely sentimental sap. And I love you, too. Now finish your shawarma.”

Enjolras obediently picked his wrap up again and took a big bite. “This was a really good idea,” he told Grantaire. “We should do this again sometime.”

Grantaire laughed. “Let’s just focus on one date at a time, alright? After all, we have that whole saving the world thing that we need to do occasionally, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Shrugging, Enjolras took another bite. “Do you think we can start counting missions as dates?”

“If you aren’t counting a candlelight dinner in my workshop as a date, we are sure as hell  _not_  counting missions as dates,” Grantaire snapped.

Enjolras put his hands up defensively. “Ok, ok! It was just a question.” He picked up his cup of soda and tentatively held it out towards Grantaire. “Cheers for our first date?”

Grantaire clinked his own soda against Enjolras’s, smiling to show Enjolras was forgiven. “No. Cheers for the best first date ever.”

“The best date ever,” Enjolras repeated, laughing slightly.

Grantaire held up the last bit of his wrap. “And of course, cheers to shawarma.”

“To shawarma,” Enjolras said solemnly. “And to us.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and kissed Enjolras. “To us. And to me for putting up with your sentimental nonsense.” He balled up his napkin and tossed it towards the garbage can, reaching for Enjolras’s hand. “Now come on. Let’s go home. And try not to draw attention to us this time.”

Enjolras frowned. “There was a cat stuck in a tree,” he protested, though he allowed Grantaire to pull him out the door. “What was I supposed to do, just let it stay stuck up there?”

"Whatever," Grantaire sighed. "I’m just not helping any old ladies across the street. That’s all you."

"I’m not  _that_  bad,” Enjolras grumbled, though ten minutes later, when he had stopped traffic to allow a blind woman to cross the street at a busy intersection, he turned to Grantaire and told him sharply, “You say one word and you’re walking yourself home”, as Grantaire just laughed uproariously.


End file.
